Invitationes Commenticiae
by FlourTheCat
Summary: They were loyal, they were determined, they were stubborn. So different, so alike. Enemies, Friends, Lovers, then … Heroes? [HaschKibe; AU; CrackPairing, Serious Plot; More info inside.]
1. Night of Falsehood

_They were loyal, they were determined, they were stubborn. So different, so alike. Enemies, Friends, Lovers, then … Heroes? [HaschKibe; OOC; AU; CrackPairing, Serious Plot.]_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Here's the deal. All the author's notes are going here, so you don't have to deal with them anymore during the story.

This is crack pairing, I know. Even so, it doesn't have to be entirely unbelievable. After all, the mark of a good writer is to make something unbelievable believable, right? So, that's why I'm taking a chance at this fiction.

Please note, I am not fond of pure romance and I have never written it (let alone yaoi) and please note that there will not be extreme doses of romance. Perhaps a few kisses will be written (and not described in detail) and lemons and limes are out of the question, but sex **may** be alluded to, depending on if the story goes where I intend or not. With that said, HaschKibe will be the only pairing aside from canon pairings.

_**MODIFIED: I will be using most aspects of canon though not the exact plot. BUT, there will STILL be some major deviations! I will warn you of that now!**_

Ccertain things from canon **will** be cut, especially those that happen after this is published (cough, chapter 587), but I feel that certain liberties are needed to create a good fanfiction—and heck, that's the point of fanfiction, isn't it?

On the topic of cursing, I am not a curser, and neither are Haschwalth or Sasakibe, so don't expect to see it too much, though no promises.

Haschwalth is German. German may show up. I've taken three years of it, but if I make mistakes (that aren't intentional, that is) feel free to correct me in a kind way. I won't improve if you don't. Heck, if I make errors in English, feel free to correct that too.

There may be **minor** OCs. No Mary Sues, I swear. Nothing more than a messenger or a waiter or the like, probably unnamed.

There will be **violence**, possibly **much** of it.

This story will start **slow**. Do not expect it to be exciting from the beginning.

Sporadic updates.

The characters, especially Haschwalth and Sasakibe, will be OOC—but as mentioned above, I want to make it believable. They're both relatively minor characters, and liberties will be taken. _However_, I will not make anything occur that I cannot _personally_ see occurring in the right conditions, and I do my best to explain just why I feel this way. In other words, we may view the characters and their behaviors differently. I see this as plausible, you may not. This chapter, however, Sasakibe is drunk, meaning more OOC than he will be the rest of the story.

This starts during the time skip.

Don't hesitate to ask any questions. Remember, no more author's notes, so nothing will get answered if you don't ask me.

Now, without interruption, I present:

Letting out a soft sigh, Haschwalth watches as the heated breath emitted from his mouth flutters towards the sky before curling apart and dispersing before his eyes. He stands invisibly as families wonder around, some heading to temples or shines, some heading to other family members, some chasing children who run around wildly with sparklers.

All this causes for Haschwalth is the slight stab of loneliness close to his heart. He sharply turns his head to the side, trying not to remember the fire that had taken his home, his family, his friends, his village. _Perhaps coming here was a bad idea after all._ His attention snaps to a loud sound above him, watching quietly as the burst of red and orange weaves its way back to the ground. There are sounds of the other people 'ah'ing and 'oh'ing and the occasional child crying out in fright of the loud sound. The slight smell of ashy wood drifts into the area. Seeing as the smell further reminded him of the loss of his previous life, Haschwalth shakes his head before turning to walk away.

Once away from the commotion of the gathering families, Haschwalth finds it easier to breath, think, and all around gather his bearings. He pauses, sensing something odd. A single Soul Reaper is perching on a nearby hill. While this situation could be described as a normal situation on most occasions, it definitely crossed into abnormal territory on Ōmisoka. Haschwalth's understanding of Soul Reaper traditions was shaky at best, but he understood that they liked getting together and celebrating, even if many of Japan's traditions were made moot by death. So then, why was this random Soul Reaper just sitting in this random location? Yes, the Soul Reapers could not withdraw completely, even on a holiday, but a Soul Reaper on duty should not just sit there…regardless of how adept his or her spiritual senses are. Haschwalth tries to rationalize the strange occurrence, but can find no answer. If the Soul Reaper was on duty, why was he just sitting there? If the Soul Reaper was celebrating, why was he alone? The facts of the situation just fail to add up. Perhaps it was a trap or a sting mission of some sort, attempting to attract an enemy and ambush them…which was alarming, but not of major concern. Was it not Haschwalth's duty to investigate all matters Soul Reaper, and report them to his majesty? (Haschwalth would not admit he was curious.)

With this ultimatum in mind, Haschwalth begins to approach the strange Soul Reaper, into a forest, all senses on high alert. If there are any others waiting to begin an ambush, they would never hide from a Quincy. His spiritual sweep of the area returns completely clean—save for that single Soul Reaper—a phenomenon that successfully debunks a few of his theories.

"Don't be shy…Come on out…~"

And it seems that single Soul Reaper discovered Haschwalth's presence—not that he was trying to hide it. Haschwalth steps into the clearing, cautious and on guard. What he found was mildly surprising, the single Soul Reaper was sitting on a blanket, near the top of a hill, not facing Haschwalth. Beside him, there appeared to be a saké bottle. Great, the Soul Reaper was probably drunk.

"Come on~ Almost there~" He glances over his shoulder, waving his arm in some pattern that was probably meant to wave Haschwalth over before letting it fall ungracefully to his side. He then takes a sip of the liquid he was drinking, which Haschwalth caught the whiff of: definitely alcohol.

With an exhale, Haschwalth approaches slowly. He really didn't particularly wish to communicate with a Soul Reaper, let alone a drunken one, but with the nature of saké, it would be a perfect opportunity to pry some information about the enemy's forces. Or, if things went sour, Haschwalth was perfectly capable of defending himself.

"Sit with me?" The man tilts his head backwards to look at Haschwalth's face, wide eyes glimmering with the effect of intoxication.

Haschwalth purses his lips, an act that seems to go unnoticed by the Soul Reaper. It was against his nature to even speak to the Soul Reaper, so there was no way that he was going to follow his orders, but, at the same time, if he wanted to get secrets from him, turning down the request wouldn't do either. He settled for making a deal, "Not unless you discard that foul substance." The lack of it would at least make the proceedings bearable. And, should he become violent, it would be reason enough to cut him down where he sat and continue life.

The Soul Reaper blinks, not taking his gaze off Haschwalth, before slowly turning to the flask and cup he holds in his hand. Then, he unexpectedly tosses it over the hill's edge, before returning his gaze to Haschwalth with an expectant look.

Honestly, Haschwalth would have preferred the second of the possibilities. While gathering information when the opportunity expressed itself _was _one of his duties to his people, it was not a task he enjoyed or wished to undertake at the current time. He wanted…peace. Relaxation. Unfortunately, with soul reapers prowling the human world and the nature of his rambunctious allies, peace and relaxation was not something Haschwalth found often. _I suppose some sacrifices have to be made in order to please His Majesty… _Narrowing his eyes, he walks over and sits gracefully on the blanket, making sure that not even his robe touches the Soul Reaper. The Soul Reaper looks pleased—doesn't even seem to notice that Haschwalth isn't a fellow Soul Reaper—and Haschwalth noted that he doesn't particularly smell like saké, which led him to three possibilities: 1, the Soul Reaper is an extreme lightweight, didn't drink that much and is authentically drunk; 2, the Soul Reaper is just extremely friendly and/or fails to see Haschwalth as an enemy; or 3, the Sou—

"You have pretty eyes." The sudden comment bumps Haschwalth out of his musing, and he finds the Soul Reaper only a few inches away, staring into his eyes. Haschwalth instantly leans backwards; glare forming instantly as he wonders why he let his guard down so easily. It was a foolish move, regardless of the Soul Reaper's state. He stares the drunken soul down until he backs off, before returning to his musing albeit keeping a closer eye on the Soul Reaper.

Where did he leave off? Ah, yes, the third option, the Soul Reaper is faking his intoxication to achieve some goal of his own.

"Why aren't you with your family?" The Soul Reaper suddenly asks, seemingly intent on conversing whether Haschwalth wants it or not.

Unfortunately for the Soul Reaper, that is a highly sensitive topic to Haschwalth, one that is almost guaranteed to put him in a bad mood. He decided to play it defensive, and stoically responded, "Why aren't you?"

"I don't have family."

To be honest, Haschwalth really wasn't expecting the instant and blunt response, and expecting even less for the Soul Reaper's answer to the question to match his own. Sure, the Soul Reapers died facing hollows, but at least they didn't have another species attacking them in their homes. Thus, with a bitter and somewhat depressed tone, he responds, "Then you have my answer to the question as well." The vague and roundabout answer was intentional, meant to hopefully confuse the Soul Reaper and give him no answers after all. It doesn't work.

"Then let's be family just for tonight."

This Soul Reaper was just full of surprises, wasn't he? Some thread in Haschwalth's heart agreed that it was a wonderful idea, but his logical self quickly buried it beneath a wave of Soul Reaper hatred. After all, that's how he was raised and trained by His Majesty. If he had decided to throw that away, not only would his pride suffer, but Yhwach would be severely disappointed. Was that really something—

Haschwalth's eyes widen as he has to grab ahold of the Soul Reaper to keep from falling over, as he randomly decided to toss himself over whether Haschwalth approved or not, _which seems to be a reoccurring theme here,_ he grimaced. Unfortunately, steadying himself may not have been the best course of action, since it allowed the Soul Reaper to get a firm grip on him.

During his moment in which he is stunned, he takes a deep breath and caught the scent of fresh rain. This scent, mixed with the feel of the Soul Reaper's zest of a sparky spiritual pressure suspended Haschwalth into a vision of a vast electrical storm, deadly but controlled, and oddly peaceful. The vision disappears barely a second later, but Haschwalth thinks he can still hear the soft patter of rain…

Haschwalth comes to when he hears the toll of a bell in the distance: the festival that marked the New Year. _When did I…?_

"New Year already…?" The Soul Reaper mumbles, voice muffled by Haschwalth's cloak. Haschwalth wishes this was a sign of the Soul Reaper finally deciding to get off him, but he has no such luck. Instead, he just moves to a more comfortable position—for both of them, a part of Haschwalth noticed—and remains _hugging_ him. "What is your name?"

_Harmless information._ Haschwalth decides. "Haschwalth." Nothing more, nothing less.

"Hasss…" The Soul Reaper's intoxication is made apparent by his inability to pronounce the rough Germanic sound that Haschwalth's name required. "…ald." He finishes, and Haschwalth doesn't feel like arguing about how his name is pronounced.

At the same time, Haschwalth really doesn't want to listen to him attempt to say it repeatedly, so he cut him off by returning the question. "And yours?"

"Tadaoki." The Soul Reaper, the First Division's Lieutenant, memory told him, Sasakibe Tadaoki, more commonly known as Sasakibe _Chōjirō_, a nickname acquired sometime after the original war on Soul Reapers. It makes sense, Haschwalth acknowledges, the Soul Reaper matches the archived description and he was considered non-confrontational. In fact, the only reason Haschwalth failed to come to the conclusion was because of his abnormal behavior: he was normally a stoic man at the side of Yamamoto. It was a fact that changed so many variables—he would know much about the Soul Reapers but just as sure to never surrender any of that information, he was a threat that must be eliminated but not before his majesty said so, and he was a target with little known information but being so contradicting to what Haschwalth expected of Soul Reapers.

_Utterly ridiculous. _So ridiculous, in fact, that Haschwalth didn't even feel like resisting. He is…exhausted. With his job as Grandmaster of the Stern Ritter, his general duties as a Quincy, failing to find tranquility in the human world and getting snuggle-attacked (or whatever you wished to call it…), he just didn't feel like doing anything at the moment. Everyone needed rest occasionally, a fact that even his majesty acknowledged, and sometimes Haschwalth felt as though he did not rest enough. It was a thought that would not be given weight any other time, but the holidays, especially family related ones, had a habit of depressing him enough to contemplate such thoughts.

And sometimes…such thoughts were so…draining…

When Haschwalth wakes, the sun is up. In fact, the sun is quite possibly what woke him up in the first place. He is leaning awkwardly to the side, body and legs creating an awkward bent L, head resting on the ground, grass tickling his face, Soul Reaper half draped over him (technically incorrect, for when Haschwalth came to the realization he was promptly shoved off), and Haschwalth feels all around stiff yet strangely well rested.

Haschwalth pushed himself up, staring distastefully at the grass he had fallen on in his sleep. There better not be a stain on his cape…

"Oh dear. That was from a rather expensive set."

"It was your own ill-informed decision to toss it over."

"So I've noticed… My actions as a drunk tend to be…Ahem…rather emotionally charged, shall we say."

_You don't say _is Haschwalth's only retaliation, and a rather undignified one at that, one left unsaid.

"What brings you to the human world this fine New Year?"

So, even in correct state of mind this Soul Reaper chooses to speak over fight…perhaps the Daten needed to be modified to state 'non-confrontational to a stupid degree.' "It is my choice to go where I please as I choose." The statement was bordering on the territory of a lie, as Haschwalth generally needed to get Yhwach's permission before leaving, but saying anything else would give the Soul Reaper a clue to the Quincy's return, a fact that could not be slipped as some of their plan bordered on surprise.

"…Of course. I did not mean to imply otherwise."

_What are you getting at, Soul Reaper? _Haschwalth's expression does not change. It did not quite matter, though, for the Soul Reaper hadn't turned from looking over the hill, peering over at his shattered possessions. _Why do you not strike? _Haschwalth is not foolish—no, he is far from it. He knew that right now he was in a battle of wits and that neither of those questions would be answered.

Retrieving information was rarely straightforward. It was a twisting path of confusion, sabotage, and unreliability. No, one should never listen to the information that was said, but rather that which _wasn't_ said. After all, it was much easier to give a flat lie than it was to imply one. Therefore, when attempting to glean information, the most useless questions could be the most effective to the trained listener. At the same time, the most effective lie was one based in truth—it was the very same idea. Even so, delving directly into such questions is more likely to cause suspicion than anything… There is no reason for the two of them to be communicating, let alone partaking in insignificant conversations, regardless of how the Soul Reaper acts.

There are so many possibilities.

Not a shred of his mental monologue appears on his face, the contemplation lasting less than a second in his strategically inclined mind. Possibility after possibility considered, discarded, before he came to a decision.

"Why are _you_ here?" Yes, it is the very same question that Haschwalth was just asked. Not only does it give the façade of politeness, but it would also give an insight to the Soul Reaper's characteristics. It was a foregone conclusion that the answer would not be the truth, but the style of the lie and the contents within could be just as useful…with the added bonus of obscuring Haschwalth's true intent while not being out of character for a Quincy to say. Haschwalth does not care for the Soul Reaper's personal life, but it appears that he does. A false sense of camaraderie…

"The city is quite noisy at this time of year. I would almost swear that the activities of certain individuals resound resolutely across and through the buildings."

_I know what you speak of, Soul Reaper. _Does he honestly think that Haschwalth would not see through the poorly disguised reference to the Seireitei? _The certain individuals in question are almost guaranteed to be the 11__th__ Division_. Perhaps the Soul Reaper thinks little of Haschwalth—unlikely considering who he is, aged enough to have lived through the original war, but Soul Reapers are known to be arrogant. Haschwalth could use that to his advantage.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite remember your name." Finally, the Soul Reaper stands and turns to face Haschwalth. "I remember that we exchanged names, though, and if I recall correctly, it was exotic. Western."

Again. "Haschwalth." It is doubtful that anyone or any record in Soul Society stores his name. Even Yamamoto probably didn't take care to remember the dutiful servant of his enemy. In other news, Haschwalth wasn't sure what to make of the Soul Reaper's description of his name.

"Western indeed," he says, mostly to himself before bending down to pick up the blanket, standing up and pulling it along to straighten it, before pulling the edges together to fold it. "Germanic, I assume?" His gaze flickers from his blanket to Haschwalth for the briefest second before returning and continuing to fold the blanket.

"Do I need to answer that?" Haschwalth's reply is instant but cool, calm, and collected. The Quincy were German. It would make sense that his name would be German as well, a fact that Haschwalth is sure the Soul Reaper is alluding to. However, Haschwalth's name was given by His Majesty, most likely with no certain culture in mind save the Quincy's own, though the 'sch' sound was common in German language and it would be a understandable, if amateurish, mistake.

"I suppose not."

For the moment, Haschwalth just watches the Soul Reaper, gathering information visually rather than orally. The Soul Reaper's movements are carefree, void of even the telltale signs of hiding stress or preparing a sneak attack. Haschwalth doubts he had the rigorous training to be able to conceal his internal emotions and feelings (especially not from one so talented as Haschwalth) and concludes he honestly feels unthreatened and relaxed.

It is both insulting and exploitable.

Had any other Quincy been in Haschwalth's place, it was doubtless that the Soul Reaper would be dead or locked in a battle of life, but Haschwalth was not so rash or quick to anger (because the Quincy _were_ a threat and that Soul Reaper should _not_ be so comfortable standing so (too) close and it is an insult to the Quincy's _pride_ for it to be that way!) and saw the opportunity that was there.

This is Yamamoto's lieutenant, bound to know just about everything that wasn't Yamamoto's most private thoughts, and is making the mistake of letting his guard down to the enemy. And, Haschwalth is loath to admit, he wasn't _horrible_ to talk to…so long as he remained sober. Haschwalth can put up with a lot of happenings (a drunken Soul Reaper snuggle hug was not-so-proudly added to that list yesterday) but if it occurred a second time, all bets were off.

_It is a near-perfect situation_, Haschwalth notes, _for me._ It is a reconnaissance mission that may yield unexpected boosts to Quincy kind, a target that is bearable, more so than his own comrades at times, with a low chance of negative consequences and a high chance of success of some kind…if only luring the Soul Reaper into a vulnerable state to kill him with the least possible problems. He needs only to figure out how to proceed.

"I'm going to have to leave, unfortunately," the Soul Reaper states, blanked folded neatly and tucked beneath his arm.

Haschwalth would have to act quickly.

"Why don't we meet again next week?" At this point, the Soul Reaper is already turned around, drawing his blade to make his exit.

…Or, perhaps if Haschwalth stays silent long enough, the Soul Reaper will take care of the details himself. "Very well."

The Soul Reaper pauses, lowering his sword and looking curiously over his shoulder at Haschwalth.

"Consider it your final wish." It is a cryptic explanation, indeed, a reference to the upcoming genocide of the Soul Reapers, a reference that failed to be understood by the target.

"A genie, are you? I don't remember the first two."

_Sitting with you and being your hugging post,_ Haschwalth supplies mentally with a grimace, though neither of them makes it to his face.

"Right here, then? Next Wednesday?" At Haschwalth's slight inclination of his head, the Soul Reaper turned to his Senkaimon, and disappeared behind its wooden panels.

Perhaps it was an oversight to agree so quickly, but Haschwalth has the week to contemplate his options and didn't even have to show up if he chose not to, his agreement nothing more than another lie to get the information he desired. By agreeing, he at least left a chance to continue his self-assigned mission, left a chance to replicate an occurrence which may never come around again.

_All of your kind are foolish, Soul Reaper. You are not excluded from that._

Haschwalth turns. He would return to Silbern and consider his options.

_Do you even realize you are in a battle? All the more reason you cannot defeat me._

The shadows of His Majesty take him.

_And to think, you may help trigger the downfall of your species…all because of your false invitations._


	2. Permission? Maybe, maybe not

When Sasakibe had invited Haschwalth to spend another day with him, it was not to attempt to get information or to become a mole or a double agent or anything of the sort. There was no maliciousness in the offer and it was unlikely that any sort would develop in the future, so long as their simple meetings continued. In fact, Sasakibe's reasoning, unlike Haschwalth's, was extremely simple…and it may be for that reason only that Haschwalth has so much trouble trying to decipher it.

Over the past week, not a hair appeared out of place on Sasakibe, not a shred of his encounter showed on his face. Internally, however, he was interested in the upcoming meeting. It would be the first Quincy he could speak to outside of war terms. He had faith that it would go well—the ryoka Quincy proved that it could.

That did not mean that Sasakibe did not have a bit of a dilemma when it came to what he wished to do against what he should do—both as Lieutenant of First Division and as a Soul Reaper period. Unlike what many people thought it was, being a lieutenant was not always about doing exactly what the Captain said to do. In fact, while at times following orders was a major part of it, it was occasionally quite the opposite. It meant knowing what needed and should be done without needing to bother the captain. It meant doing what the captain could not to increase the range of ability for the whole division. While Yamamoto may take care of issues on a large scale that everyone needed to know about, Sasakibe took care of issues on a small scale without anyone being bothered.

He decided that Haschwalth belonged in the latter category.

He was a single Quincy who was not bothering the Soul Reapers and was not affecting the balance. There was no reason why Yamamoto, or anyone for that matter, needed to know about his existence.

There was no reason why Sasakibe could not speak to him on peaceful terms.

Assuming, that is, he actually shows up. Aside from the obvious, Sasakibe had realized not long after he left that they had failed to assign a time. Even so, there was no point in not going. What else would a ghostly Quincy have to do? Hopefully not hunt hollows. Surely they would be able to sense each other, and if not, then Sasakibe could look around the Human World for a bit.

Sasakibe gives a small smile—at his desk, but a smile nonetheless—as he organizes the remaining papers on his desk. It takes nary a moment, his desk is always near the epitome of organized, before he stands, sliding the last few papers into place.

With a final glance at everything, he slides his door open and exits. Walking for a few minutes takes him to his desired location, the hallway in which the third seat was merely watching over the younger squad members.

"Okikiba-san!" The words are equal part greeting and calling (though honestly anyone outside of the First Division would not be able to hear the 'greeting' part.)

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"Please look after the barracks. I will return shortly."

"Yes, lieutenant."

"Thank you."

With the task completed, Sasakibe made his way to the Senkaimon. Yes, it was normal for one, especially one so prestigious as a lieutenant, to ask the captain for permission before leaving even the barracks let alone the Soul Society. However, being a dutiful lieutenant for nearly two millennia _did_ have its benefits and doing as he pleased was one of them. He knows what he needs to do, he has the common sense to know what must be done by when, and he did not need his captain to set guidelines for he should be doing.

Basically, his captain trusted him to complete his duties in a timely manner, and so long as no trouble is caused, couldn't care less what he did otherwise.

Anyone who knew a thing about Sasakibe would most likely know his fascination with the western section of the human world. It would only be perceived as slightly abnormal that he chooses to leave today, and only because his destination is Japan rather than England or somewhere else in that general area. Even then, few, if any, people would question his actions, and if they did, few people of importance would listen to the accusations. That wasn't necessarily a _good_ thing, (see Aizen), but it was for him.

It saved time, and time, even to a Soul Reaper as old as he was, is important.

"Lieutenant Sasakibe," one of the Senkaimon guards greets. The guards did change every so often, and luckily the ones there today are familiar with his activities. It meant that it did not need to be verified, which saved even more time.

"Where will you be visiting today?" The second guard approaches the programming panel.

"The same destination as last week," Sasakibe says mildly, but recites the coordinates nonetheless.

"Back to Japan, Lieutenant?" the first guard asks, eyebrows and the corner of his mouth slightly raised in slight amusement.

"Yes, yes!" His voice does rise, but it was not in anger. He was actually quite happy at the moment, far from angry, though the tones were virtually identical. "I was not quite done, I had to return for work."

"That's always a bummer," the second, obviously more laidback, guard says as he prepares the transportation.

"Perhaps, but it's necessary nonetheless," his voice returns to a stern neutrality. He can't set the wrong example for the young ones: there was nothing wrong with relaxing and doing as you enjoy, but work _always_ comes first.

"So we're told…," the second guard mutters in reply.

Sasakibe frowns, but says nothing more. It was difficult to understand the importance of the work Soul Society did, especially the boring, mundane tasks such as filing and sorting, but it was not something that could be explained to someone who never saw the importance firsthand. Understanding generally bloomed from an issue or some sort arising from a mistake in the paperwork, such as trying to deal with 200 extra soap boxes or angry businessmen who did not get paid correctly, situations that could quickly spiral out of control if not handled correctly.

Generally, once one dealt with that once or twice, they paid better care to what they filled out and filed.

On the other hand, most more easily understood the necessity of such activities as patrol and hollow hunting even without a firsthand experience. More stakes were on the line and errors were generally more costly. But still, those who did not understand first were generally hit _hard_ especially if an oversight cost a comrade's life.

But, that is neither here nor now. Sasakibe sincerely doubts that the Quincy he may or may not be meeting with would cause a problem, and if he did, Sasakibe would just have to take care of it. The situation was as simple as that—he knew the risks, but everything in life was a risk and it was something that had to be ignored in favor of enjoying life.

"The Senkaimon is ready, sir."

"Thank you."

Both the two guarding the gate and Sasakibe bow, before they straighten and Sasakibe follows the Hell Butterfly into the Human World.

Similarly, not long after he had departed, Haschwalth too had realized that neither of them had set a time for their supposed meeting.

It was of little concern to Haschwalth. His Majesty was not yet ready to plan an attack and the Stern Ritter did not need a babysitter. It quite literally left Haschwalth with nothing to do. So long as there was plenty of energy within and in the air he need not sleep or eat, few of the Stern Ritter were good conversation or entertainment, His Majesty did not have time for petty events, and nearly all of the Soldat treated Haschwalth as if he was a bomb that would explode and kill them all (of course, he _could_ kill them all, but being treated as such got old quickly).

The mistake was minor, yes, but a careless oversight on the Soul Reaper's part. He had set the meeting; setting a time was a decently crucial part of this. It was possible that he would be careless on other less minor issues, ones that could be useful information to the Vandenreich.

But first, he would need to make His Majesty aware of the situation. He approaches the throne room, capable of telling if His Majesty was willing to speak to him by the details of his spiritual energy, walking in without a worry.

"Your Majesty," Haschwalth speaks politely, as always, bowing at his waist with an arm across his chest.

"Yes, Haschwalth?" To the uneducated person, it would seem as though Yhwach was not paying the slightest bit of attention to Haschwalth. However, that could be considered a good thing, for those that Yhwach actually pays attention to generally don't live for much longer.

"I plan to spend the day in the human world once again," there is not a trace of amusement in Haschwalth's crisp tones, his speech the epitome of respect and apathy, as he straightens himself and returns his arm to his side.

"Hrn…" His Majesty contemplates the statement, switching from a position of perfect posture to one in which he slouches ever so slightly, resting his chin on his hand, the elbow of which rests on his knee. "Twice in the same year, Haschwalth? That is abnormal." It sounds scathing, but in reality he is amused. Haschwalth would have preferred the former.

"I have discovered a Soul Reaper that I may be able to extract information from."

"Always diligent, Haschwalth. Do as you see fit."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am confident in the success chance of this operation."

"Remove your cape. It bears our symbol."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"When can I expect your return?"

"I predict that the Soul Reaper will insist upon returning home before the night grows too old. Whether or not he will decide to meet again is a question that I know the answer to not."

"Very well. You needn't inform me of future departures."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You are dismissed."

After a second bow identical to the first, Haschwalth exits His Majesty's throne room, intent on walking peacefully to his room to neatly fold and store his cape.

"What're you up to, Jugo?"

But, of course, as previously mentioned, peace and Silbern are not two words that got along nicely. In the hall way, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one foot pulled up and resting on the wall behind him, was Stern Ritter H, Bazz-B. "I am returning to my room," Haschwalth's tones are crisp and pointed, and even one without much imagination could imagine that he said 'My activities are _not_ your business,' instead.

Bazz-B scoffs. "You were just with His Majesty—don't play dumb with me. Just wanted to know if there was anything good going on."

"Good?" Haschwalth stops, fixing Bazz-B with a level stare. "Do you dare to question His Majesty's choice of actions?"

"Don't be putting words in my mouth, Jugo. It's boring as hell around here, and even you know it."

"Oh? When did agitating the other Stern Ritter begin to cease to entertain you? And why do you continue to partake in the act if it is so 'boring'?"

Bazz-B snorts, pushing off the wall with his foot. Once stability is regained with both feet and no wall, he speaks again. "You're hard to talk to, you know that? No wonder no one bothers to try."

"Perhaps your level of intellect is merely too low to undertake communication efficiently with me."

"Keep believing that, Jugo," Bazz-B says as he walks past Haschwalth.

Haschwalth closes his eyes and gives the smallest shake of his head: _In Memoriam, _the collective intelligence of the Stern Ritter. He then continues his journey to his room uninterrupted.

His room is…bare. That is the only way to describe it. There is a bed, precisely made, white sheets topped with a white blanket with the faintest blue cross across it, white pillows near the top, with a frame of white dyed wood. Beyond that, the white walls contained three white doors, the one he just came in through, one that contains more—white—uniforms, and one that has a similarly designed washroom. The second of the doors is the one he chooses, walking forward while removing his cape. The door slides open without a sound, and he takes a single hanger—pristine sliver, in fact—and slides the cape onto it. The cape is fastened to ensure it remains as placed, and then the hanger is returned to the closet and the door is shut.

A second thought occurs to Haschwalth and the door is opened once again. He reaches onto the shelf above the uniforms, the left side, and pulls down a pair of—white, with the thinnest strip of pale gold near the opening—gloves. He slips them on as he exits the room. The door swings and latches shut behind him, and it only takes slight concentration to force the door locked.

Before long, only the sounds of his footsteps accompanying him, he arrives at a training hall, various Arrancar training before him. A swift execution of Hirenkyaku brings him directly in front of a certain one, and a raised palm stops the arrow's path. "To the same location as last week, _Ebern_." Haschwalth showed no concern for the arrow that had come at him: a blatant show of strength that the Arrancar could not argue with…even if he did narrow his eyes and quietly growl in protest. Nonetheless, the bow he fought with fades and he shifts into a non-confrontational pose.

The Garganta opens before Haschwalth, and he steps in.


	3. Sexual Confrontations

It takes nary a few moments before Sasakibe locates Haschwalth, the Quincy roaming a few hundred meters out from their original meeting place.

"Did we not agree to meet upon the hill?"

"I have more important activities to see to over waiting for a disorganized Soul Reaper."

"Scathing."

And for a while, that is all that was exchanged between them. Haschwalth stands there, back to Sasakibe, though he was sure the Quincy's focus is as sharp as his words, Sasakibe four or five meters behind him, Haschwalth standing perfectly straight with his arms stiff at his sides as Sasakibe stands slightly relaxed, arms folded behind as his gaze watches Haschwalth.

Long blond hair, easily the most eye-catching feature, cascades down with a backdrop of pristine, near shining, white, just barely grazing a golden belt that wraps around his figure's rather thin waist. Blue accents decorate the long sleeved form-fitting shirt, leading to a silver cross and white gloved hands. Looser pants, not quite baggy but not form-fitting either, cover the rest of his form, topped off with white and gold boots.

Quincy _were_ known for their fashion sense. And, of course, for destroying the world's balance, but fashion was up there too.

"Why white and blue?" Sasakibe eventually asks, rubbing the side of his face with his thumb as he continues to watch Haschwalth in interest.

"…White...is the color of purity, in our culture." Haschwalth spoke slowly, words guarded and cautious.

"Ah, yes, I've heard as such…it's quite the opposite here."

"I am aware."

"And the blue?"

"…Blue is the natural color of any Quincy-constructed object, be it weapon or otherwise."

"Simple enough, I suppose. Hmmm, if our uniform was based on the color of our spiritual energy, I daresay it would be quite … gaudy." Sasakibe hums slightly after the statement, dropping his hand back to his side.

The Quincy makes a noise that may have been a type of resigned snort, though no further comment is forthcoming.

"I suppose I should introduce myself completely," Sasakibe says, bored of the silence. "Sasakibe Chōjirō, Lieutenant of the First Division of the Gotei 13."

"You introduced yourself as Tadaoki last week."

"Ah, yes…It is an obsolete name, you see. My nickname, Chōjirō, is far more common."

"Is that how that works." It is worded like a question, yet spoken like a statement.

At the moment, Sasakibe is at a loss. Despite having accepted the initial invitation, the Quincy seems to have little interest at the conversation at hand. He did not appear to possess the stereotypical Soul Reaper hate many Quincy have acquired over the years yet he was not entirely accepting, either. Perhaps he was just being difficult for the sake of being difficult. Sasakibe had, once upon a time, been like that as well, having the habit of being highly difficult and opposing without being outright scathing. (He actually still does act that way, but his captain is the only one he generally interacts with and the man had long ago earned the respect for Sasakibe to cease the behavior. Mostly, at least.)

"What do you eat?"

"…A Quincy must maintain a certain level of energy, one which varies amongst individuals. So long as energy in taken in, both the technique and the form is irrelevant."

"But certainly some foods are preferable to others?"

"Irrelevant. You will not convince me you are otherwise."

Sasakibe thinks about the offered conclusion. "I suppose you are correct…from a pure survival standpoint. So long as one has the means, luxury, and ability to choose a preference from many, why would he not?"

"It is a waste of time."

"Arguably, everything is. If not live for what you love, then live for what?"

"The ideals of the foolish."

"Foolish? How so?"

"The only meaningful activities in life are those that cause a long term change in the world, for good or worse. A meal preference has no such effect, and those who believe it does are foolish."

"I never said anything about changing the world…," Sasakibe drifts off, the slightest hint of sadness coloring the sentence. He couldn't help but slightly pity the lone little Quincy with big dreams. Regardless of what any motivational speech or idioms may say, one person could _not _change the world, at least not on so big a scale as he described. Even the most powerful garnered support to initiate change: the ryoka a few months back, his own captain, even Aizen fit the description. Sasakibe couldn't imagine where this Quincy would find such support, and if he continued thinking in that way, it would be a miserable life indeed. "Why worry about the future when the present already needs to be fixed?"

"Enough. I tire swiftly of philosophical thoughts, especially when at such an impasse as we find ourselves at. You. You are a Soul Reaper, correct?"

"Is there a Quincy alive that knows not who we are?"

"No."

The bitter reply makes Sasakibe realize that the intended joke was in poor taste. There weren't many of the species alive _to_ not know about the Soul Reapers. "My apologies."

"Apologies do not suit your kind."

Ouch. _There_ was the trademark hatred. Communications went south quickly. At least an actual fight didn't break out. Sasakibe quickly changes the subject. "Do you believe in Gods?"

The question gives the Quincy pause.

Sasakibe pauses as well, finding himself genuinely curious to the Quincy's reply. Then again, he was a curious man entirely, so the event was not so surprising. In their own culture, that is, the Soul Reapers, they had the man known as their king, the Spirit King…but he was not much more than that. He was a legendary figurehead that few Soul Reapers even knew the existence of and even fewer ever had the honor to meet. Whether or not he was actually a God or not was debatable. Then again, some people may actually consider the Soul Reapers themselves, literally Gods of Death, Gods, but they were not so in the all-powerful definition. …Well, not all. Soul Reapers and Hollows run around in the human world, hiding behind natural and human-made disasters, was it so inconceivable that some creatures in another plane did the same to Soul Society?

After Sasakibe's internal monologue, Haschwalth gives his reply. "The Quincy culture has roots in monotheism. Ancient myths of our creation state that our King was first born to create defenders of the Earth from evil forces."

"But do you believe it?"

Haschwalth does not answer.

Nevertheless, the silence is peaceful. The Quincy's rage seems to have faded as quickly as it had come, Sasakibe did not feel threatened, and Haschwalth did not appear to either. The neighborhood is equally peaceful, various houses along the road resting silently as dim lights filtered through the windows of the houses in which the setting sun was not enough to illuminate. The occasional car drifted past, an event which bothered neither Sasakibe nor his companion.

Sasakibe is half tempted to get off the lawn of whichever unfortunate human they are trespassing on, but he remembers that they are invisible, and the point is moot.

"You are a spirit, Haschwalth-san?" It was the first time that he addressed the man by name, an event that caused him to look over his shoulder in…curiosity? Sasakibe couldn't quite read the cold, stoic eyes. When he chose not to reply again, Sasakibe amended the question, "Herr Haschwalth? Is that better?" Sasakibe hopes not, for that is difficult to say.

"No." After the blunt reply, he returns to looking forward.

"…I'm afraid that I do not understand."

"As was intentional. We are both spirits. There is nothing else to say on the topic."

Actually, Sasakibe can think of much more to say on the topic, such as why he no longer had his chain of fate, but he decides to keep quiet. He would tell him in time if he was meant to know.

"What exactly _is _a Soul Reaper?"

"A Soul Reaper…? …A guardian, I suppose. Of the reincarnation cycle."

There is a few moments of silence, before Haschwalth, with some surprise, replies, "Is that all?"

"Well…Yes. Just about every action a Soul Reaper performs connects to protecting the reincarnation cycle in some way. From preventing the hollows from interrupting it, to sending the humans on, devising more efficient ways to do so…"

"Wiping out the Quincy because they interfered."

"Unfortunately."

"Was it truly 'unfortunate'?" Finally, Haschwalth turned around, leveling his gaze to look directly at Sasakibe.

Sasakibe lets out a soft sigh, "What is it you wish to hear? Do you wish for me to apologize? It is not something that I will do. I was in the mindset, and still am, that it was the correct course of action. I do not apologize for such a thing." It was harsh, and partially emotionally charged, but it was the truth.

Haschwalth is silent, but does not appear to be angry. Rather, it seems as though he was expecting the reply. "It will never be reconciled… That is a fact that I have accepted a _very_ long time ago." It is spoken with a deadest intensity that Sasakibe couldn't help but wonder at the depth of.

"How old are you?" Sasakibe asks curiously. The way the man spoke implied an age far above what Sasakibe would have expected—how long could a Quincy evade detection from the Soul Society? With a narrowed gaze and a more serious examination of the situation, Sasakibe realizes that he very well may have been for a very long time. In fact, he was less than 5 meters away from the man, yet, in a not expecting detection, that is, not searching, his energy barely registered on his spiritual senses. However, that would mean that he had restrained from destroying hollows (an event which would definitely be noticed by all but the laziest Soul Reapers) which is what triggered the genocide in the first place… He was beginning to regret getting involved in the situation, but he knew that at this point it was his duty to monitor the Quincy, regardless of whether or not he reported it.

"After a certain point, age is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant…you are certainly fond of that word."

"Favoritism is heinous and your perception is skewed."

"Your vocabulary is enlightening, meine Freund." Sasakibe watches Haschwalth stiffen, it was a slight movement, but one that he caught. He lowers himself to his ground, sitting cross-legged with his elbow on his leg and his hand resting against his face—mainly to hide the small smile he has. He managed find a weak point, and he would use it to his advantage.

"My vocabulary is of an adequate and normal standing. …And in two words, your grammar and usage are atrocious." His words are still level and apathetic, but Sasakibe can hear the small but aggravated exhale he lets out.

"Grammar inconsistency in two words? My, how inconvenient. Enlighten me."

"No." Despite his refusal, Sasakibe could sense the subtle changes in the his spiritual energy (now that he was paying close attention to it) signaling his growing agitation. "…The gender in your comment is mismatched. The form of 'meine' used is feminine, while the form of 'Freund' used is masculine. Though the wording _can_ imply a close relationship, the usage more often leans towards a romantic relationship, neither of which we are in possession of. If you feel as though you _must_ use the term, 'mein Freund' is correct; however, for the sake of the language, please consider using 'mein Bekannter,' or, preferably, 'mein Feind.'" With his lecture finished, Haschwalth relapses back into silence.

"But the words are not living; I have never understood why they have gender. I find Japanese and English to be much simpler than the complex concept of 'gendered nouns.'" Neither of the languages had gender, at least not to Sasakibe's knowledge, but he did believe Spanish did, and possibly French, though he never interacted much with the languages beyond common communication and even then rarely.

"Only to an uneducated delinquent." Haschwalth huffs and Sasakibe can imagine an arrogant, unamused expression on his face. "The sophisticated nature of the gender does quite the opposite, making the sentences clearer and easier to read. When the words change to match their usage, there can be no ambiguity as to what the intended meaning is."

"How do you say that with a straight face?" Sasakibe wonders aloud, not believing a word of it.

"Your temperament is foul. I will discuss the topic no more."

"Fine, fine, what do you wish to discuss, then?" Sasakibe agrees, he too wishing to leave the topic of confusing grammatical intricacies.

"The Soul Society."

"I see. Have you been there?"

"I left the moment I was able. The maculate place is uninhabitable."

"…" Sasakibe is unsure of how to react to such an insulting paradox. "…I suppose that depends on where exactly you were. How did you manage to return to here?"

"You underestimate my ability." But Haschwalth said nothing more on the topic.

"Do I?" Sasakibe says quietly, realizing that it would be a necessity to monitor the Quincy before him. He knew from a thousand years ago that the Quincy could get into the Seireitei without an issue. He knew that the result of a single Quincy attacking the Soul Society would not be disastrous, but if he happened to be Lieutenant or even Captain level, some damage could and would be done…it was a matter of figuring out what his intentions were. But, there would be no more discussion for the night.

"In one week. 8 in the afternoon." And he simply walked away.

Sasakibe remains on the ground where he was. He had the feeling that the situation would become much worse.


End file.
